Zaradyna

             There weren't many chances for me to interact with humans outside of stalking and killing them. Halloween was the only option for centuries - that is, until recently. In the past few years these things called Conventions started poopping up. Many people took it as a chance to dress up in costumes like on Halloween - called Cosplays - except they were usually characters from the media. Meaning more people would be in disguise in one area. More people dressing up like creepypastas. More chances for creepypastas to interact without problems.             After finding out about these conventions I decided to check it out. I managed

She's locked up with a spinning wheel She can't recall what it was like to feel She says, 'This room's gonna be my grave And there is no one who can save me.' She sits down to her coloured thread She knows lovers waking up in their bed She says, 'How long can I live this way Is there no one I can pay to let me go 'Cause I'm half sick of shadows I wanna see the sky Everyone else can watch as the sun goes down So why can't I You attempt to open the door to your little room, praying that 'Lover' - as you were forced to call your captor, Veneziano - forgot to lock it after your nightly “play-time.” Your efforts in vain, you sat down

      ...And in that moment I found myself missing my soft, goose feather bed, the pile of pillows and warm blankets that adorned it, the soothing glow and crackle of the fireplace. The fresh food that seemed to explode in flavor every time I took a bite. The assortment of colorful blossoms peeking out from their leafy green homes, guarded by towering ancient sentinels. The one blue rose at the edge of the garden, all alone in it's elegance, gracefully dancing upon the mid-summer's breeze, protected by hundreds of tiny thorns as sharp as one of mother's sewing needles.       As I lay there on my bunk—in my cabin on a boat anchored som

     She likes me. That was all I could think about, staring down at my math homework. She wants to date me.     I put pen to paper but the numbers and variables couldn't register in my brain through the overwhelming happiness. With my free hand I clutched the pendant hanging from my neck - a rose quartz necklace she had given me for my 15th birthday just a week before. My chest tightened and my stomach squirmed every time I thought of her and what she'd said, a high-pitched squeal rising in the back of my throat. Dropping my pen (a black Bic for women pen - why do we need a special pen, anyways?), I fell backwards against my pillows, unfold